


double down

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: A game of Simon Says, but no one's in charge here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy mcgenjiweek!
> 
>  
> 
> For Day 1: Touch.

The exact explanation of how a twenty-five year old Jesse McCree shows up twelve years into the future is a mystery to everyone involved. McCree, with his Blackwatch uniform still intact and without rank, is a rougher kind of sharp and clever, all untapped potential waiting to be tempered with time and experience. Genji finds him endearing, which is a glaring detail he had a decade to discover but had somehow missed the first time. Still, being Blackwatch’s newest up and coming agent offers very little in the way of understanding timestreams and broken chrono accelerators, no matter how clever and sharp they are.

The lesser mystery of the night would be how Genji ends up in his lap, one metal hand tangled through his hair and the other flat against his chest to steady himself. Genji knows _exactly_ how it happens, and he can blame two specific people—or maybe it ought to be one person, on a technicality.

“What next?” he prompts, adjusting McCree’s lopsided hat with a flick of his finger. It balances precariously over his helmet. Not the most perfect fit, but no one has complained yet. He glances over his shoulder, ignoring McCree’s ragged panting against his chest.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

The other half of the _one person_ sits behind them, a chair pulled up backwards so that he can prop his arms on the backrest. The McCree of Genji’s present time is far older by now and more composed, laughing from his chair while his younger self is sitting disheveled on the cot with Genji straddling him.

“Jesse,” Genji says, the name easy on his tongue when he looks at the older one, though it had taken them years to get up to that point as well. He grins, hidden behind his faceplate. “You know I am, but the question is; are you?”

Jesse laughs again, leaning forward on the backrest. His smile is lazy, bordering on the edge of taunting. “Convince me.”

Genji looks back down at McCree. McCree looks already convinced, but Genji plays along.

“Then tell me what to do,” he demurs. It’s just as well that he can’t see his expression. It would be more dangerous than coy.

McCree, who doesn’t know Genji just yet—and won’t know him in a couple of years—doesn’t pick up on the careful, deliberate way Genji steers the conversation. It must all sound like careless teasing and meaningless flirting, but it would be easy to miss how Genji constantly dares him to take it a step further. Jesse, on the other hand, is happy to indulge his competitive streak with a gamble of his own.

“How about you take off that belt?” Jesse finally decides. “You look mighty good in it, but it’s blocking the view.”

Genji doesn’t click his tongue in disappointment, but it’s a near thing.

It had started as a game, with new rules being built with each turn. McCree’s belt is slung low around Genji’s hips, golden buckle clinking against his metal armor. It had been a joke at first—Jesse testing the waters of how willing Genji would follow commands and directions. Genji takes it in stride, takes the opportunity to pull the belt from McCree’s waist with deliberate slowness to loop it around his own. The heavy bandolier of flash grenades is a comfortable weight he can work with, and he knows how to move his body to accentuate how the weapons sway around his waist. As for the hat—Genji had put in on his own accord to complete the look, and perhaps make McCree’s roaming hands stutter over his thighs and Jesse watch him a little more closely.

So perhaps he isn’t so good at following directions to the exact letter, but it’s the thought that counts. The next few commands had come easy; _stay on the bed. Get in his lap. Push him down._

“Go on, _darlin’_ ,” McCree says, picking up their intentions fast. The younger timbre of his voice makes the term of endearment sit on the side of mocking.

Genji tilts his head, pausing only for a second. Then he leans forward to put his covered mouth to McCree’s ear, voice dropping so Jesse cannot hear the dangerous edge. “Careful, little one. You do not have the right to call me that _yet_.”

McCree falls silent, and Genji can see him piecing together the implications of Genji’s confession—and threat. He leans in, pressing the cold metal of Genji’s jaw to his cheek, and it pulls an unexpected smile from Genji. Half an apology, the other half a defiant gesture, accepting the challenge. _Well_ , Genji thinks fondly, he may earn that right faster than expected.

“Very well,” he murmurs, also for McCree’s ears only. “Fortune favors the bold, as they say.”

Genji makes sure Jesse is watching him as he takes off the belt. He has one hand closed over the buckle, undoing the clasp, and the rest falls to the floor without flourish. Boring by both their standards, but the real motive is to pull tight at McCree’s hair, which is shorter than what Genji is used to but he still likes it all the same. McCree makes a soft noise, head tilting. He looks up at Genji with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, and Genji has to check back a delighted laugh. It seems unfair to take advantage in knowing all the ways McCree likes to be touched. A hand in his hair, a pretty compliment in his ear, and Genji is sure he can take him apart in seconds.

He eases off McCree, hands going back to his shoulders. He should pretend not to know these things, but there is Jesse behind him—the one Genji is more familiar with, and he will give no ground for him, even at the expense of the younger one.

He can hear the chair creak behind him. Jesse shifting in his seat. Genji doesn’t need to look to know.

“ _Next,_ ” he says again, and below him he can hear McCree growl in frustration. The game is far too slow for McCree, and so Genji makes a request on his behalf, taking off McCree’s hat and tossing it aside. “Jesse, something more exciting this time. Or are you turning shy?”

“Ain’t never been shy in my _life_ ,” Jesse says, his smile sharp, though Genji can attest to several moments where he has had to pull the demands from Jesse himself. He is not shy, certainly, but not so easily amenable to voicing his wants.

And _that_ , Genji knows, is half the game. Jesse knows it as well, though it seems they are both willing to let the younger McCree get caught in the crossfire.

“Touch him,” Jesse says, propping his cheek in the palm of his hand in feigned boredom.

“Where?” Genji fires back, and knows he has Jesse boxed in when the other man pauses. He lifts his hands, placing the tips of his cold fingers beneath McCree’s chin. McCree’s head moves under the slightest pressure, but his gaze darts over to his older counterpart, glaring silently. He will not be a passive participant for long. “Right here? Or-” Genji dips his other hand lower, skirting over the top of McCree’s jeans, “-there?”

His touches are light and brief, needlessly fleeting over McCree’s skin. Despite Genji’s weight already resting comfortably in McCree’s lap, McCree finally decides to act on his own, no longer hesitant to intervene, and Genji guesses it is more out of annoyance than impatience. McCree grabs both his wrists, taking them in each hand. His grip is hard, heedless of the metal edges of Genji’s joints.

“I don't mean to set myself up for either of you to make a fool out of me,” McCree says, ever observant. He notices Genji’s restraint, even when they are still, for all intents and purposes, strangers. And Genji catches a hint of that bristling pride that Jesse, years later, will occasionally show in those rare moments when his temper gets the best of him. The realization makes a fiery heat bloom in Genji’s chest, his head dizzy with sudden need.

“A fool? Oh, no,” Genji breathes, a little taken aback. He shifts his hands, fingers coaxing McCree’s grip to loosen so they are held, rather than gripped. McCree’s thumbs press against his palms, unrelenting. Genji glances at Jesse, still sitting behind them, still watching, and Genji looks back at McCree. His voice lowers on its own, slipping into a level of earnestness Genji himself is unused to.

“You misunderstand us,” he says, leaning close, the soft glow from his visor reflecting green in McCree’s eyes. “I'm trusting him to make sure _you_ will be thoroughly enjoying _me_.”

There is a pause, McCree's hands going still, and then color floods to his face, indignant bravado stuttering off. His grip on Genji’s wrists go slack, but Genji doesn’t move. McCree glances at his older self then back at Genji, brows knitting together. Genji really wishes he can take off his helmet and kiss him, but Jesse hadn’t given him permission to, hadn’t said a thing about revealing his face for whatever reason. At least not yet.

“You're going to eat him alive, my dear,” Jesse says wryly.

Genji turns to him, no longer patient enough to wait for Jesse to tell him to press his thigh between McCree’s legs. “And who's to say I won't do the same to you?”

McCree jerks under him, his soft gasps punctuating each time Genji moves against him.

“Sweetheart,” Jesse says, his gaze burning into Genji, “I look forward to it.”

“God _damn_ ,” McCree mutters, grasping desperately at Genji’s arms. His legs shift wider as he pulls Genji closer. “Then get to it. While one of us is still young, old me.”

Genji laughs, stilling despite McCree’s insistent hands on his body. He waits.

Jesse’s face is not nearly as red as McCree’s, but there’s a hint of it in his tone, though his words come out flippant. “Hands down where it counts, Genji,” and the rest of the commands fall into place; _unbutton, move, touch_ —and then he orders, “ _Until I can’t stand it._ ”

Genji takes McCree in one hand, and he is already wet under his pants, but perhaps Jesse knew he would be. McCree moans, knuckles knocking against the unfamiliar planes of Genji’s armor. It’s inelegant and rough, but he doesn’t seem to mind, unknowing of all the other intimate ways Genji could have had him instead.

“Push him down.”

And it doesn’t take much. Genji puts his free hand on McCree’s chest, leaning his weight on it, and McCree falls back on the cot, easily moving against the light push. He makes a soft noise as Genji kneels over him, staring for a moment. One of his hands lift up before they stop in mid-air, and for a moment Genji wonders at the hesitation.

McCree’s fingers brush at his faceplate, just below his jaw. Genji might have an idea of what it means, but Jesse acknowledges it faster.

“Take off your helmet,” Jesse says, and his voice is rougher than what it has been all night.

Genji doesn’t question it. His hand goes to the back of his head where the clasps are. He doesn’t allow himself to balk at the thought of McCree turning him away. McCree may be years younger and more brash, but Jesse would not have said anything at all if there had been a chance that he would recoil from a torn, scarred face.

“Please,” McCree says, somehow sensing the gravity of the request, if not the full significance. He drops his hand, waiting, and Genji feels as if he cannot get the mask off fast enough.

The faceplate detaches with a hiss and Genji tosses it to the side. He lets McCree look at him, his ragged flesh and wan skin—and he doesn’t mind the staring, not anymore—and wraps his hand around McCree again. He will not let either of them forget the command; _until I can’t stand it_.

McCree shuts his eyes, his breath coming out in quick gasps, timed to the way Genji’s wet thumb rubs over him. His hips jerk up, held down by Genji’s thighs on either side, and Genji lets him be pinned this way, relishing the way his moves in small, trapped motions.

McCree opens his eyes, staring at Genji once more, but his words to Jesse are frantic. “Tell him to kiss me.”

“Please,” Genji says, staring back, and feels himself grow hot all over from hearing the stuttering hitch in McCree’s moans, the loud scrape of Jesse’s chair being set aside.

The cot dips from Jesse’s weight, and Genji feels Jesse press behind him, warm and familiar. An arm wraps over his chest, holding him steady as Genji’s knees bend to accommodate Jesse’s body pushing him all the more closer to McCree.

“Kiss him,” Jesse says to Genji’s ear, though he claims the first one for himself, lips to the back of Genji’s neck in a kiss that is almost too chaste, if not for the way his hand drops down to rub circles over Genji’s inner thigh.

Genji bends down, hands braced over either side of McCree’s head, gripping the sheets, and McCree’s mouth is open and eager when he closes the rest of the gap between them. He kisses McCree, filthy and wet, and rocks against his lap until McCree is incapable of keeping up, and only moans into his mouth.

From behind, Jesse’s hands play over Genji’s armor, trailing around the hooks and clasps as Genji moves back and forth. Genji fumbles with one hand over the armor plating over his thighs, but Jesse catches on and pulls off what plating he can, revealing the softer parts of Genji’s body, addictingly more sensitive out of their protective coverings. Genji’s breath nearly stops as Jesse runs his palms down his sides.

McCree notices. He draws Genji in, almost in rebuke for Genji’s lapse in attention, and places both his hands at each side of Genji’s face. He kisses Genji with a surprising amount of ferocity, and Genji abruptly wonders if Jesse or McCree are aware of their demanding tells. Genji almost laughs, but it turns into a small, pleased noise as he feels Jesse push himself against him, belt buckle clattering to the floor.

“I’m surprised you lasted this long,” Genji says, turning his head away from McCree. McCree lets out a protesting groan, but Genji silences it by grinding down on him, pressure unrelenting. He reaches over his shoulder, palm cupping the back of Jesse’s head. His fingers tangle in Jesse’s hair, pulling him closer. He ducks his head down, catching a glimpse of Jesse’s pants down to his knees, his hips pressed wet and flushed to Genji’s backside.

Jesse’s only answer is a low moan and a sharp bite over the soft synthetic muscle of Genji’s exposed shoulder. Genji lets out a breathless laugh against McCree’s cheek, letting his easy movements take them both. He is not sure what does McCree in first, his thumb running over McCree’s bottom lip, or the searing kiss he gives after. McCree’s eyes squeeze shut, wordless as he shudders messily over his stomach.

“Ah, ah,” McCree gasps, and treats Genji with a dazed smile and a clumsy kiss over his mouth, looping his arms around Genji’s shoulders to draw him in.

Genji looks down at him, mouth falling open.

“Ah, Jesse, you're younger self is so cute,” he says in Japanese, unable to help himself. He feels strangely overwhelmed by the onslaught of kisses over his face, and he tries in vain to get a hold of himself. He sits back, pulling McCree up with him.

“I'm always cute,” Jesse replies, his own Japanese rough, but it gets the point across. He sits back with Genji, guiding him to his own lap this time with a firm hand over Genji’s hip. “Now,” he says to his younger self, “I’ve got orders for _you_.”

McCree takes three seconds to stop kissing Genji, one eyebrow raised. “Try me.”

Genji grins, stretching back over Jesse, every move deliberate. McCree’s hands fall to the hard armor of his chest, a fast learner in every way.

“You will like them,” Genji says.

* * *

“I have a request.”

“ _Anythin’_ ,” both of them say at the same time, with the same breathless intonation and cadence, and Genji loves it.

“It might be a little too sordid,” he teases, leaning back against Jesse while McCree hands wander down his sides.

Jesse laughs, pressing his forehead to Genji’s shoulder. He sounds breathless still. “Shit, honey. We ain’t exactly been having the cleanest fun tonight.”

Genji tilts his head towards McCree, fingers brushing over his cheek for good measure. “Kiss him.”

Jesse grins while McCree looks a little more skeptical, but not by much. “You wanna watch?”

“More than anything,” Genji confesses, and works his hands over McCree’s chest. He throws McCree a little smile, watching with unabashed glee as the hesitation disappears completely from McCree’s face.

“How should I do it?” Jesse murmurs into Genji’s neck. “On the mouth?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Genji says, looking at McCree, still smiling. His hands drag over McCree’s stomach, stopping short of dropping any lower. “But do it slow.”

“How slow?”

McCree jerks impatiently under Genji’s hands, eyes wild.

“Oh, for the love of-” he growls, and grabs Jesse by the collar, crushing their mouths together over Genji’s shoulder.

“Hah,” Genji says, half in surprise, half in sudden interest. He had, perhaps, miscalculated McCree’s patience, but the way Jesse grins into their kiss gives away how deliberate his teasing had been.

“Any _other_ requests?” McCree asks, when they are done. He is panting, and Jesse had been merciless.

“A few more,” Genji laughs, and pulls them both in.

 


End file.
